


People Watching, a Guide by Stiles Stilinski

by ElleBassist



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alive Boyd And Erica, BAMF Scott, Because I can, Comatose!Stiles, Creepy Uncle Peter being a little sassy, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Except I really do, Gen, Ghosts, Graphic descriptions of violence and bodily harm later, Hospital, Hurt!Stiles, Hurt/Comfort, I don't mean to hurt you like this., I'm so sorry my baby, Memory Loss, Out of Body Experiences, Spirits, alpha pack, mentions of Deucalion, mentions of mama stilinski, sorry - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-08-14
Updated: 2014-10-25
Packaged: 2017-12-23 10:48:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 11,381
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/925476
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ElleBassist/pseuds/ElleBassist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Waking up in a hospital, as some can tell you, can be a very scary thing. Usually though you don't wake up and see your own body in the bed. Stiles can tell you, that's not a Bucket List worthy experience.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hola! This kinda popped in my head and refused to quit so, y'know, it's here now. I am warning you, I haven't written in a while and excluding my reread I do when I finish a chapter there is no betaing...yet. Chapters will get longer and feel free to point anything out that bothers you.  
> Contructive Criticism is always welcome!  
> Enjoy!

Let it be known from here on out, Stiles would never not expect anything ever again. Because, seriously, this was probably pretty high on the list of ‘Highly Improbable Situations.’ Maybe even near the ‘Accidently Getting Your Best Friend Bit by a Werewolf.’ Whoever wrote that list must really hate him since he seemed to keep getting in to said highly improbable situations.  
  
Stiles sighed before looking over to his right from what should have felt like an uncomfortable, plastic hospital chair. Lying in a matching hospital bed, hooked up to a plethora of tubes and wires, beeping monitors and IV bags, was… Stiles. Granted considering his face was covered in bruises and some cuts on his brow and lip, he could be very hard to recognize. Especially with that swelling around his left eye ( good lord was it turning green? Ew, just, gross.) Yeah, he wasn’t a pretty picture. The only good Stiles could draw from not remembering what happened was that he couldn’t remember the pain. From the state of his body, whatever had happened hurt like a biatch.  
  
  
Although you couldn’t see due to the thick bandages seemingly covering almost every visible part of him, his chest and arms were covered in deep lacerations and bruises. One of his legs was broken (he’s pretty sure there were some broken ribs too) and there were obvious defensive wounds on his hands. From the times he had heard his dad talking to Ms. McCall, he could gather things were pretty serious. He couldn’t even breathe on his own, he a freaking tube shoved down his throat!  
Stiles looked away from himself on the bed and pulled his legs up to his chest, his face on his knees. He didn’t know what to do. So far he couldn’t leave the hospital, he couldn’t touch anyone, and he couldn’t touch anything. Honestly this was a little weird because if he can’t touch anything why was he able to sit in a chair without falling through into the ground and popping out on the other side of the planet? Why couldn’t he touch the fake plant in the corner but this stupid chair could hold him?  
  
Focus. Right.  
  
The only real comfort (because at this point even if he had to remember pain, he would at least like to know what happened to him) he had was that he wasn’t dead.  
  
  
Yet.  
  
That didn’t even feel weird to say anymore. If he had to guess the occurrence of the supernatural in one’s life could make death seem imminent. It wasn’t like this wasn’t his first near death experience either. And of all people Stiles knew that death could come at anytime time what with his mom and all, but to be expecting it when he was only a teenager felt pretty morbid. Familiarly morbid. God. This whole problem was just all sorts of messed up. He didn’t even have his clothes! He had an untied, backwards hospital gown and his boxers. Not even any socks! He was freezing all of the time and he really missed all of his layers. Compared to Stiles’ usual fashion statement he was nearly nude. He felt so cold, and something told him that it was more than just having to walk around like a model for a scrubs catalogue. Everything felt different. He knew the chair he was residing in was supposed to be uncomfortable and that the window was supposed to feel smooth, and the fake plant was supposed to feel fuzzy from dust, but it like they were just…there. Extra bits of cold in an already freezing world.  
Stile’s knee had just started bouncing up and down when he heard the door to room clicking open softly, alerting him to the presence of people.  
  
It was none other than Nurse Melissa McCall that entered the room with her son behind her. It’s first time Scott had been here and Stiles suddenly feels much better. In the long hours by himself he had been worrying about his friend, the rest of the pack. Where they hurt too? Had they died? And the most popular question of the recent days: _What the hell is happening?_  
  
So far his dad had been the only one in here besides the nurses and doctors checking up on him. His father had looked so defeated and Stiles had seen the bruises on his hands from where he had surely been punching walls. It wasn’t until he collapsed on his knees next to the bed and grabbed Stiles’ hand that he broke. He had gotten into his face screamed to his father that he was _right_ here, _why can’t you hear me?!_  
  
Stiles had then been shocked to discover that even a disembodied, spirit/ghost things can have panic attacks.  
  
Honestly, Scott looks terrible. He has dark circles under his eyes and his usual werewolf-prefect skin is plaer. His shoulders are slumped as if gravity decided to be jerk today and threw hundred pound weights on his back. Well, maybe heavier than a hundred. Super-human strength and all.  
  
“Try and talk to him.” Ms. McCall says quietly, “He might be able to hear you. You might be able to.. bring him back to the surface a bit.”  
  
Scott just nods silently and moves to sit in the chair jerkily. Stiles got out of it quickly because having someone go through you is not a pleasant experience and moved behind the chair. Scott turned the chair towards Stiles on the bed before sitting there in silence. Melissa looked on her son sadly before leaving the room.  
  
Stiles looks on his friend from the side, cataloguing the exhaustion that reins his features and tries not to break down again then and there. These had probably been three of the most stressful, terrifying days of his life. He already had had to watch his father break down by what could very well be Stiles’ deathbed and now his best friend’s eyes are watering and he just doesn’t know how to deal with this. He wants to hug him, tell him he’s there but he can’t and it’s killing him. He watches as Scott grabs Stiles’ hand with both of his and clutches it like a lifeline. His body is shaking with the force of trapped sobs and Stiles knows Scott is about to explode. He stands over his best friend and whispers comforting words that no one but himself can hear and it’s really for Stiles own benefit at this point. Scott’s tears travel freely down his face and the sounds that come out of his mouth sounds like they’re ripped out of him, like his very soul is tormented. There are words that are trying to force their way out of Scott’s mouth but he’s crying too hard to actually form them. It seems like forever before Scott seemed able to speak and when he did it was almost worse than the sobbing. Stiles slumps down on the floor and leans against his bed.  
  
“Stiles…I’m so sorry.”  
  
His head snapped up to Scott’s in rapid attention, his breath quickening slightly.  
  
“I’m so sorry you got involved in all of this. It’s my fault, it’s my fault you’re dying. I wasn’t paying attention. I didn’t answer when you called and now I don’t know what to do.” Scott took in a shuddering breath and let out a ragged cough.  
  
Finally, finally Stiles was learning something. Granted the guy that was practically his brother was weeping over his comatose body, but he was learning something. Try to focus on the good stuff

“The whole pack is just more than angry. We had to stop Erica from killing Aiden in the cafeteria.”  
  
Finding out it was the Alpha Pack didn’t really surprise Stiles. It had been one of his first hypotheses when he first settled down after screaming at every doctor, nurse, and patient in the hospital. Why Stiles though? He was just the Robin to Scott’s Batman. The Wingman. _Sidekick._  
  
As Scott went on, he started pulling himself together, looking more angry and determined.  
  
“We’re going to get them Stiles. We are. As soon as we find the rest of them they’re going to wish they never came to Beacon Hills.”  
  
Ooh. Whoa. Scott was being a badass. Frankly, since becoming a werewolf Scott had just reminded him even more of a puppy except with claws and anger management issues. But the look in his eyes right now made Stiles think of a vicious wolf. An animal ready to maim and rip limbs.  
  
It might scare him a bit. Not that he would say anything, it wasn’t himself who should be afraid of that right now.  
Scott stands up stiffly, letting go of Stiles’ hand and takes a deep breath. When Stiles realized he was leaving, he panics. He scrambled to get off his position on the floor where he had been leaning against the hospital bed and gets in front of his friend, his expression pleading.  
  
“No, Scott, please don’t leave yet. God please don’t.” Stiles can’t be alone. It’s hard and he’s frustrated and scared and confused and oh God just please don’t leave.  
  
Scott’s heading to the door and Stiles runs to it so he can hold it closed even though he knows that it won’t do anything but he has to try. And when Scott goes to turn the handle the door won’t open. He rattles it but it’s not moving out of its frame. In his shock Stiles lets it go and Scott gives the door a strange look before glancing at Stiles-on-the-bed one last time and walks out of the room, closing the door behind him softly as if to let Stiles rest.  
  
Forgetting about nearly trapping Scott in the room with him, Stiles jumped and fist pumped the air. He did it. _He did it_! Stiles had managed to not only touch but hold a door closed against a werewolf. Stiles laughed a tad hysterically, before feeling a grin split his face. He ran around his room to the fake potted plant in the corner raised a hand to one of the leafs and…  
  
Nothing. His hand passed right through it. Stiles furrowed his brow and tried and again. And again. Again. Again and againandagainandagain  _and why wasn't it working anymore?_  
Practically shaking, Stiles took a breath. He just needed to calm down. What had he been thinking when Scott was here? He had been afraid, desperate. Stiles took in another breath and concentrated, drawing in his focus on that freaking leaf in front of him before reaching his hand out again-  
  
And then three more people walked into his room. The rest of the betas, Erica, Issac, and Boyd.

Stiles straightens from his hunched over position by the plant and watched as the three wolves, his friends, walk in to the room and stand over his body wearing three similar but infinitely different expressions of sadness and anger. Erica reads like anger and revenge and Stiles worries that she might wolf out right there, but when Boyd and Isaac pull her into what he can only describe as a bone-crushing group-hug he simultaneously curses and relaxes. It’s great to know that he’s cared about because Stiles is just one of those people who needs to be reminded every once and a while, but watching his friends and family cry over him was not his idea of fun. Far from it. Especially if he couldn't even tell them that it was going to be alright, because whether that was a lie or not that’s just what he did, how he rolled.

“Those bastards!” Erica cried. She went on like this for a while actually, with Isaac and Boyd there to nod along and hold her. Stiles wanted nothing more than to comfort her. To tell them he was here. Maybe not in where they were looking, there in his body, as empty of life as a sealed mausoleum, but _with_ them, and if the episode with Scott just a little while ago meant anything, it was that Stiles could try. He drew in his focus and took another deep breath. He held out his arms (which were totally not shaking. Nope) and stretched his arms across the three of them.

All three teenagers recoiled and looked around wildly for something Stiles knew they couldn’t see.

“What was that?” Isaac asked, keeping his scanning the room while moving to protect Erica’s side, Boyd moving to do the same. Covering their blind spots for a defensive position. Stiles might have made a joke about letting the Power Rangers assemble if he weren't kicking himself a little. Of course they would be a little jumpy, Boyd and Erica had only been free from a freaking bank vault for a few weeks and Isaac had his memories altered.

“I don’t know, but I don’t think we’re going to be leaving for a while.” Boyd said with that kinda of startling finality he had that made Stiles a little jealous sometimes.

“Who do we call?” Isaac asked.

“Ghostbusters!” Stiles couldn’t help himself, it was close enough to the actual line and considering his situation he was a allowed at least some joking. It always made everything a little better. 

Not like anyone could actually hear it though.

Boyd answered without shifting his eyes from their scan of the room.

“Call Scott and Derek, get them here as soon as possible.”

Stiles couldn’t help but roll his eyes. Having Scott and Derek in the same room was not going to help at all. The two had gotten better at working together but with everyone as emotionally compromised as they were and Derek being his surly, grumpy self was not going to help anything happen. Not to mention Stiles’ own discomfort with Derek.

Stiles and Derek had an…interesting relationship with each other. While Stiles still occasionally got thrown into walls and tables now and again there was less animosity between the two. Now it was more of a grudging, mutual respect and a maybe/kinda friendship between the two that had been born out of a lot of hairy, by skin-of-our-teeth situations. Having hung around the loft fairly often now to help plan and generally keep tabs on things, Stiles had developed another maybe/kinda friendship with Cora even though she was pretty quiet and intimidated him a bit. She was a Hale and she could so more pull-ups than him (when fitness testing came around Stiles generally pulled sick days to avoid complete embarrassment) so he felt that he was allowed a little bit of intimidation. And it totally didn't help that she was hot. It seemed like all Hales were born with an ‘Obscenely Attractive Gene.’ 

Out of all three Hales however, Stiles went out of his way to avoid Peter. Creepy Undead Uncle Peter who had hurt Lydia on the lacrosse field and kidnapped Stiles with blood still on his face. Who made him give up his friend and tried to offer him the bite. Even though he was supposedly reformed, Stiles felt he had a good enough reason to feel rubbed the wrong the way.

“Ooh, we’re getting the gang back together, can’t wait to see how that goes.”

Isaac shot off texts to the two parties before stepping back into position and then checking the responses a few minutes later.

Scott hadn’t even left the hospital so he was up to the room within five minutes. He rushed into the room looking panicked and Erica gave him the low down.

Maybe Stiles should have thought this out better, and the fact that now no one could hear him was just wonderful. Fantastic. Stiles ran his hands through his hair before plunking down on the floor. 

 

Uggggh.

 

And if the situation couldn't get any worse than with the pack members already there only a misplaced growl away from completely wolfing out, Derek didn’t come alone.

Cora coming along was fine, good even. She didn't say much anyway. But bringing Peter? Stiles was sooooo put off by that.

“Nooo. Nuh-uh. You are not involving Creepy Uncle Peter. No way.” Stiles hands crossed the air to help accentuate his point but- oh wait. No one could hear him. Stiles honestly felt like screaming again, he was so frustrated. It seemed like lately he was getting very emotional very fast. Hormonal even.

All three Hales looked at Stiles-on-the-bed with that pity that seemed ever present in everyone’s eyes before facing the other wolves. There was only a brief silence that, due to a lack of corporeal Stiles, had to be broken by the only other resident sass-master who just so happened to be Stiles’ least favorite person in the room.

“Even when he’s unconscious and dying the kid attracts trouble.”

Stiles’ fists tightened and he felt some of his frustration brush across the surface of his mind.

“Wow, thanks Peter. Like you’re not your own barrel of weird. You totally didn’t try to kill the girl I had a crush on since the third grade and then came back from the dead or anything.”

A cold breeze rushed through the room but no one really seemed to notice. Everyone was giving Peter one of the most scathing looks Stiles had ever seen. Well, most of them. Derek had more of a: ‘God-why-do-I-have-to-put-up-with-this-guy,” type of thing going in. Cora was more just straight-faced. Sigh. Of course the glares rolled right off Peter like rain on oil. Jerk.

“Erica,” Scott began, desperately trying to move the situation along “said something touched them.”

“We couldn’t see it, but we all felt it.” Isaac said. “It was…cold.”

Boyd nodded in agreement; face stoic but body language betraying how he was on guard.

Honestly, it was a little touching. His friends getting all protective. It gave Stiles the tiniest bit of warmth in his chest. It was gone before he truly had a chance to grab at it, but it had been there.

“Are you-are you saying what I think you’re saying?” Cora looked questioning with her eyebrow raised and her arms crossed over her chest.

“I don’t know…what do you think we’re saying?”

Stiles found it a bit hard to take Isaac seriously as he tried to keep an eye on the entire room from his corner. If it weren't for the fact that Stiles knew Isaac could seriously hurt and maim him he would buy him a sweater with puppies and ‘Bless Your Heart,’ on it. Isaac wasn't dumb, not at all. But Stiles seriously suspected there was some brain and mouth disconnection going on there. He had that problem himself so he should know.

Peter rolled his eyes before beginning to across the room.

“What I think we have here, and correct me if I’m wrong, is a haunting.”

If the silence that followed wasn't was the thickest and most tense Stiles had ever experienced, he would revoke declaration of Scott having to watch Star Wars.

“Is that supposed to be a joke?” Scott looked about ready to punch Peter’s lights out. Go team!

“I can assure you, Scott, I’m not joking. Haunting aren't exactly easy things to deal with.”

A haunting. God, this sounded like a bad horror movie.

“Weird touching and cold rooms? Sounds like a legit haunting oh Zombied One.” Stiles felt the need to break the ice. Still unheard.

Sigh.

“Why would…a ghost want to haunt Stiles’ room?” Erica blinked. “That might have been one of the weirdest things to ever come out of my mouth.”

“Hey, you’re not the one living it.” Stiles said leaning against the wall near her. “Believe me, it goes beyond weird into slightly terrifying.”

Erica shivered.

Peter walked towards the hospital bed with his arms crossed. He turned his head as if contemplating something and Stiles found himself moving closer. He didn’t expect Peter to suddenly rip his body’s throat out, but having him that close made him anxious.

“It can’t have anything to do with the Alpha Pack, they were trying to kill him not give him an imaginary friend.”

“Not an imaginary friend.” Stiles felt the need to point this out. Honestly, had none of them heard of out-of-body experiences?

“Well what is it then?” Scott’s jaw was doing that weird under bite thing that happens when he gets angry. He should get that checked out, then again can werewolves even have self-inflicted dental problems?

“My best friend is comatose because Deucalion decided to send a message. Now his hospital room is being haunted?! How the hell am I supposed to help him if you decide be cryptic? We don’t have time for this, HE doesn’t have time for this!”

Everyone just stared. Peter actually looked pleased in a sick sort of way.

“How long have you been holding that back, Scotty?” He was concerned. Honestly, Stiles had never really seen Scott explode before. It just was not Scott. Even on the full moon he didn’t, he was just a bit of an ass. Never had Stiles seen him go nuclear though.

“Why is no one talking. I get that Scott just had a moment, but this does not really seem like a good time for miscommunication.

“So, um, I’m not the only one that felt right?” Isaac said from his corner.

Stiles turned and saw looks of mild confusion and battle ready faces.

“Felt what? Am I sending off ghosty signals that are making your werewolf senses tingle?”

Erica shifted forward with her claws extended.

“There it is again.”

“It’s…cold.” Cora was like the others and scanning the room ready to pounce at a moment’s notice.

Stiles cocked his head before releasing a sound of understanding.

“It happens when I talk, doesn’t it?”

In response, every being in the room but Stiles shivered. It was strange to see and it probably felt weird to the others too. Werewolves sere like radiators, meaning they were extremely warm. And hot. Like that was not fair, why did losing your eyebrows to the moon every month make you extremely attractive the rest of the time? Stiles and the rest of the poor little humans just couldn’t keep up. _Focus, back to the point._

Stiles walked in front of Scott, desperately ignoring Peter behind him. Stiles looked into Scott’s eyes and prepared himself.

“Scott,” Scott shivered, “I know I said some things when I was drunk, but in truth, Scotty…You are not a bootylicious hoe. I’m sorry.”

Instead of either looking incredulously at Stiles or laughing, Scott shivered like someone just walked over his grave. He even had goose bumps! Stiles couldn’t even remember the last time he had seen him wear a scarf let alone have goose bumps of all things.

“It’s moving,” was all Peter said, trying to sound all mysterious. And maybe succeeding. Jerk.

“I’m not an it, Creeper, I still have all my dangly bits.”

“Scott, I think it’s time we called your boss over for a visit.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aloha. Another update today, granted it's short (my bad, it looked longer on paper) but the next chapter will be longer because I'm planning on some LYDIA.  
> Comments, constructive criticism, and kudos are always appreciated! Thanks to those who have already left those, you guys are dolls! Don't forget to bookmark!

About two hours later, three trips down to the hospital cafeteria, and numerous instances of saying the most random and weird crap at his friend's faces, Deaton had arrived.

Scott had told Ms.McCall to hold off any people and hadn't given his mom any explanation except that it was important. When she had looked into the room to see seven werewolves (one of which that was supposed to be  _dead_ ) she nodded with a face that could only be learned after years of raising boys and walked away.

Deaton had only walked a foot into the room before he stopped and looked around with that sagely stare of his that simultaneously made Stiles relax and become irritated. Just seeing him made him feel conflicted. Stiles knew logically that out of any of the people the pack could their hands on, Deaton could help the most. But a part that threatened to take over told him  _bad. Very bad. Get him out._ Stiles ignored it.

"There is definitely something here," was all he said.

_"There's definitely something here."_ Stiles mocked in an eerie voice.  He watched as the veternarian shivered from the cold that his voice brought into the room. It was a tad enjoyable. He realized that should probably worry him, but that voice from earlier smiled.

Deaton walked towards Stiles-on-the-bed and did that stupid  _sigh_ thing that was drivng him a little insane at this point. _  
_

Derek pushed himself off the wall effortlessly  and stood next to Deaton with his arms crossed. Besides his first Glance Over of Pity when he first walked into the room, this was the first time Derek had really looked at Stiles' body. While his face was carefully sculpted into his normal grumpiness, Stiles could see the guilt that lay there. He really shouldn't feel guilty, the Alpha Pack went after him because of Scott (not that he blamed Stiles blamed him any, he was the one that got Scott bit in the first place) but the guilt  _was_ there. He would have to deal with that if he woke up.

"What's the plan?"

Deaton patted the black canvas hanging off his shoulder softly. "First we have to figure out what exactly is residing here. Once we've done that we can decide what to do."

Derek looked upset (and by upset Stiles meant his perpetual grumpy face was more grumpy) at the absence of immediate action but nodded and allowed Deaton to go to the left side of the bland room.

"Is all of the pack here?" Derek nodded again.

"Doc Deats? Would you mind hurrying this up a bit? I'd like to be visible as soon I possibly can please."

Cue room shiver. Oh yeah, definitely enjoyable. 

Deaton started pulling jars and boxes of incense out his bag. He put a few sticks in each jar before lighting them and putting them across the room on varying surfaces. The floor, the side table by the hospital bed, windowsill. Anything besides the sensitive equipment that were currently pumping life into Stiles' body and beeping away the rate of his heartbeat.

When the incense was lit Stiles felt...cool. Happy in that tired way. He could feel the stress of the past couple days and the weird aggressive voice be buried in the aroma put off by what Stiles now wanted to call his Happy Place Sticks. He almost wanted giggle before he remembered that was totally not a manly thing to do. 

So engrossed was Stiles in the missed feeling of relaxation, he did not notice that Deaton had pulled a long, thin box out of his bag and was opening and unfolding the board inside.

Stiles came back into awareness when voices started making their way to his ears.

"These help relax any spirits. They tend to be aggressive and it's easier to communicate if they're relaxed and negotiable." Deaton's voice sounded like it came through water, but cleared out to sound more normal.

Cora raised an eyebrow, "Negotiable for what?"

Deaton lowered to his knees in front on the board and brought out a wooden triangle with little pegs on it. The board had letters and numbers on it in fancy, hand-inked font. It was, of all things, an Ouija board.

"Seriously? This is your plan?" Stiles wasn't really _against_ it, but honestly? This really was a bad horror movie.

Obviously the rest of the occupants felt the same way, but Deaton motioned for all of the wolves to sit on the floor around the board. After some adjusting and a bit of squishing, everyone, even Peter, was sitting like little kindergartners being told to go criss-cross apple-sauce on Deaton's side of the board.

"Spirit, listen. If you please, would you confirm you are here." 

Stiles heard sighs from the group of wolves but he didn't blame them. He felt stupid just looking at them. Granted this incense was really doing a number on him so he also felt a bit like floating. Stiles tried to draw his focus back in, this was here so he could talk to them. He sat down on the floor and put his hands on the triangle. He concentrated and slid the triangle with the hold in the middle to the word 'Yes.' Honestly he was a bit surprised it worked. He hadn't properly touch something in days. 

There were a few gasps and widening of eyes and Stiles stifled a laugh.

"Please, tell us your name." Deaton somehow managed to be completely serene and mysterious as he usually did. He was like Yoda. Wise Emissary Yoda. Stiles actually _did_ laugh this time. To his surprise, everyone opposite him leaned back a bit. Even Peter looked sufficently creeped. They heard him! Stiles liked these Happy Place sticks. 

Stiles started pushing the triangle. It went slowly as it required some focus but he managed. Erica and Isaac whispered the letters that he chose.

"S."

"T."

"I."

"L."

"E."

"S."

"Oh my God."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry again again! Comments, kudos, and bookmarks are much appreciated!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tada! Sorry if it's a bit rushed but I just needed this out of my system before a school thing tomorrow. Enjoy!

"Stiles..."

Scott breathed like someone had drawn the air from from his lungs with sryinge. Everyone had similar states of shock. Well, looking closer Stiles saw that Deaton and Peter defintely did _not_ look like someone had just dropped a packed bomb-shell on them. More like slightly self-satisfied (Deaton) and extremly smug (Peter.) Cocky jerks not sharing knowledge with the class.

Everyone's eyes shifted towards Stiles' prone body on the hospital bed with all of the tubes, wires, and beeping moniters. Peter still had that stupid smirk on his face and if Stiles wasn't so mellow right now he might try to smack it off his face. It wasn't like the undead werewolf could hit him right now. _  
_

"That-that can't be right." Cora swivled her head from the bed to the spot where she assumed Stiles was. Everyone joined her. Scott, who had been sitting next to his boss and was still breathing kinda of funny, stared at the space (his eyes were more focused on Stiles' neck than his eye, but he figured he could grant some slack since he wasn't really visible) where they knew Stiles was supposed to be with hope in those puppy eyes. Like, seriously Scott, stop that. The dog jokes were already so hard to hold back that Stiles didn't even try anymore more.

"Stiles, remember in the eighth grade on the last day of school and we raided your dad's liquor cabinet?" Stiles had a feeling where he was going. Oh _God._ "What did you say to me?"

Oh no. Of course he would ask that question. "Scott, what are you talking about?" Derek was looking like he was questioning his uncle's choices in life such as biting a certain McCall while the betas all looked at Scott like he was crazy, but the two resident smug bastards seemed to get it.

"This is how we know if it's him or not." Scott nodded with a faint smile on his face. Oh that little shit. That cocky little- didn't he know that this was going to be as embarassing for him as it was for Stiles?

"B."

"O, O."

"T."

"Y."

"L."

"I."

"C."

"I."

"O."

"U."

"S."

Scott laughed like the jerk he was ( _because seriously,_ Scott?) while Isaac and Erica chuckeled. Even Boyd looked amused. All three Hales looked beyond exasperated (although...that looked like crack of a smile on Cora's face) and had matching sets of rolling eyes.

"Kid is still an idoit."

"I hate you all."And if Stiles found the conflicting looks on everyone's face while the shivered funny, no one had to know.

Deaton smiled in what he had to guess was supposed to be a comforting manner before speaking. "Stiles, how long have you been like this?" Stiles pushed the triangle over the '3,' and and spelt out 'days.'

"What's the last thing you remember?"

That stopped Stiles for a second. It had taken a while to piece together after he'd woken up but he had managed to drag it up. He had left the house for...something. Stiles was pretty sure it was for some type of food something. He also vaugely remembered driving and then nothing.  Stiles pieced together _'driving,'_ on the board before sitting back on his feet.

Everyone in the room tensed. Derek visibly prickeld. _Prickeled._

Stiles thought for a moment before moving the triangle again.

'Y-O-U S-A-I-D A-L-P-H-A P-A-C-K M-E-S-S-A-G-E'

Scott looked down at the tiled floor while clenching his hands. His face was somber now, his laughter from earlier forgottten. Stiles felt nervous now. While what he heard earlier had helped confirm his suspicions, now he felt like he wasn't going to like at all what he heard.

But he had to know.

"They, uh. They wanted to...send a message. Your-your Jeep was found with broken windows on the side of the road," Scott sounded strained and his voice cracked "they took you to the bank vault and-" Scott seriously was sounding pained. Like his windpipe was fighting against him.

"...they tortured you Stiles." 

Scot looked down with what Stiles could only call guilt. Isaac put a hand on his shoulder and looked down. No one seemed able to look at the space where Stiles was besides Deaton who looked apologetic.

And Stiles? Stiles felt like his stomach had dropped out in the basement level of the hospital. Honestly, Stiles knew whatever they had done to him had to have been bad, but actually hearing it out loud did not feel good. Not at all. It  Stiles squeezed his eyes shut and tried to move away from the sinking feeling in his gut. Stiles felt a cold rush through him and he heard a something like a  _swoosh_ followed by rustling. He opend his eyes and one thing hit him, the incense was out. Holy  _crap_. He had  seriously put out all of the incense in the room. It was cool for a second before the cold started rising in his chest again. Stiles did not think freaky air bender powers were awesome when he felt like he was sinking. All the frustration, fear and confusion were pooling in his bones and that was not something he could deal with. Not when he knew he didn't have to feel that way. He saw the wolves, his friends, trying not to look startled, but were eyeing where Stiles was with stares of muted panic.

"Stiles, are you okay?" Even Derek was showing outward signs of emotion besides perpetual grumpiness.

He needed his pride and savior as of late. Focus. It was hard because obviously even in near-death Stiles had ADHD, except in near-death there was no Adderall. It was all sheer force of will from here.

Stiles crawled over to his best friend and remembered when Erica, Isaac, and Boyd had first come into the room and how he felt the _need_ to be there, to comfort. How he didn't want to see those he loved in pain. He reached his arms out and hugged his brother in everything but blood.

Scott tensed before realizing what was happening and relaxed into the hug. He didn't know how to return the hug, but Stiles was okay with that.

"I'm so sorry." Scott whisered.

"It's okay, buddy." Stiles said it so quitely he almost didn't hear himself, but Scott did. 

After a few seconds of silence and what was totally manly man bro-hugging, Stiles detached himself and almost immediatly missed the feeling of touch. He pushed the triangle back on to the board (actually picking it up was hard as he realized when his hands went right through it the first time) and immediately spelt 'incense,' as quickly as possible without having anything missed. Deaton nodded and pulled out a box of long matches and handed a few to Isaac and Boyd. All three began relighting the incense around the room. Stiles breathed in the calming sent and sighed as the warm, fuzzing feeling flooded his senses and every negative feeling was buried under the weight of of ' _ahhhhhh.'_

Stiles felt his eyes were half-lidded and he almost felt tired for the first time. He had almost forgotten the feeling. What  _was_ this stuff? He asked as much.     

"It's just a mixture of herbs with a little spark. That's all you need you sometimes." Deaton answered with his sagely voice. The dude was probably some kind of monk in a pervious life. Or he was now, they didn't really know what he got up to in his spare time anyway.

"L-I-K-E  I-T." Deaton chuckled. "I assumed you would." 

Honestly, Stiles felt like he was going to fall asleep. He could feel his eyes closing. 

"Stiles?" He wasn't even sure who said it, he was just  _so_ tired. And he felt warm, very warm. Maybe if he just closed his eyes for a few seconds...

In the end, two seconds was more like two days.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Lydia's awesome banshee powers are put to good use, pack members attempt to take care of Scott, and Stiles starts going a little crazy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, another chapter. Yay! This is actually starting to become a little hard to put together. I put it down on paper but when I start typing it tries to go off on it's own. *sigh*  
> Kudos, constructive criticism, comments, and bookmarks are always appreciated! Have a great day!

Scott McCall was not dumb. He may have instances of sheer stupidity, but so did just about every teenager in the known universe. Don't ever lie to yourself, you know you have and will have instances of just pure, obscene, stupidity.  It is the curse of humanity. 

The point is, Scott wasn't dumb, just struck with moments of dumb...ness. He actually was quite smart, especially if he applied himself. So when Stiles stopped choosing out letters on the board with the weird wooden triangle, Scott knew something was up. 

"What's going on? Dr. Deaton?" His boss started standing from his place on the floor and Scott followed him. The vet took out a few more boxes of incense and placed them in the drawer of the bedside table along with the Ouija board. "Nothing we didn't want to happen," was all he said. 

Scott really felt what Stiles meant any time he complained about Deaton's crypticness. It was pretty annoying. 

"What the Hell does that mean?" Erica was standing up with the other wolves. They, like Stiles, also did not appreciate the _"Cryptic Mystic crap."_ Peter and Derek were already upright with their arms crossed.

Deaton turned to the group of aggitated werewolves. "Spirits are bound to places that are significant to them. Places they died, their homes. The longer they're stuck here the more it gets to them. They become aggressive, possessive. You said on the phone that the door wouldn't open. He was trying to keep you here, Scott. He's scared and confused. Already he is gaining control over his environment."

"You're trying to keep him docile." Isaac had reclaimed his corner spot and was staring at Deaton with intrest. "You think he's going to hurt us?" Deaton sighed and ran a hand over his face, the action a small signal of distress. Deaton was usually very good at keeping his calm. It was something Scott envied a bit, with the way his life had been heading lately level-headedness was something he could use.

"I think that Stiles is progressing very fast. We don't know how that could affect him. It could kill him if he goes too far." That made Scott go breathless. Stiles already wasn't out of the frying pan, and now this? "Power corupts even the best of people and a spirit doesn't usually have those close to them to steer them the right way. Being invisible, having no one takes it toll." Everyone in the room shifted awkwardly. Who wouldn't hearing that this jumpy kid could potentially kill himself by going darkside? 

"So you, what, knocked him out with smelling sticks?" Derek looked fairly upset, which surprised Scott a bit. Stiles and Derek weren't enemies, almost friends actually, but Scott hadn't even expected Derek to visit the hospital. It hit Scott that every time he had looked at the Alpha he looked like his usual grumpy self, but  _different_. Almost like the usual brooding face was a mask hiding something else.I It was guilt. Derek Hale felt guilty about Stiles Stilinski being in the hospital, dying. 

The Alpha Pack, while hunting after Scott, wouldn't mind having Derek either. One of the last Hales in existence. If a scrawny human who helped out his pack sometimes made Scott  _and_   Derek sway, well that was getting two birds with one stone.

"You could say that." The vet zipped his bag closed before making eye contact with everyone in the room. "Someone needs to be here with hin at all times. Calling your Ms. Argent and Ms. Martin could help too." The wolves nodded and with multiple words of thanks from the teenagers and nods from the two tolerable Hales, he left the room.

The pack and Scott decided having a watch schedule would be best and after divding up times, Peter, Derek, and Isaac left forcing Scott out of the room as well. Apprently he needed a thing called sleep.

Scott made his way to the Nurses' Station, his thoughts distracting him from the doctors and patients milling about.

Stiles was essentially, for all intents and purposes, a ghost. It was a little weird but Scott knew that before the supernatural forced it's way into his life, being a ghost would sound pretty cool. Apart from the dying bit of course.

Rounding up on the station, Scott saw his mom sitting at her desk starring at something on her desk intensly with her mouth drawn. Walking closer, she was so engrossed in her task that didn't even realize he was there til he said her name for the third time. She jumped and put a hand on her chest. "Oh Jesus Scott. Don't do that." She moved her elbow on to the desk and rested her cheek in her hand like the weight of her head was suddenly too heavy. "Is something wrong?" Ms. McCall made a face like she remembered verything was wrong, that one of the most important people in her son's life was currently on Death's flowered 'Welcome,' mat, that the boy she considered her second son was on a ventilator that she had to insert and had make sure that and every other piece of equipemnt was still keeping him alive.  She sighed and leaned back in her chair.

"I'm trying to see if we missed anything. If there's more we can do." Of all the people to know that all they could do is wait, Ms.McCall was the expert. She was an excelent nurse and highly trained from experience, she knew that coma patients were tricky. A person with minimal brain activty could wake up years later just in time for dinner while someone who had just konked their head could never, ever wake up again. All you could do was take care of the body as best to your ability and hope God granted mercy. That knowledge did not stop her from trying to do more though. 

"The Sheriff is calling twice a day now, he has deputies everywhere." Melissa looked Scott in the eye, "You need to be careful. That 'Alpha Pack,' is still out there and the last thing we need is for you or the Sheriff or anyone getting hurt." Scott put his arm around his mom and she leaned into the touch. "Mom, there's um, a little more going on here that I hae to tell you." Scott sat down in the rolling chair next to her and tried to explain in a way that did not make him sound insane and was the least confusing.

The look his mother gave him could've earned her multiple Oscars. All the Academy Awards.

"So, he could be standing right next to me?"

"Well, Deaton used this smelling incense stuff that's supposed to make him sleep. I'm not sure how long though." Melissa rubbed her forehead and muttered. Mother and son sat together in near silence, absorbing everything that happened. It was hard to believe that so much had happened in almost two years. What would've seemed like such a long period of time was passing by so fast Scott forgot he a teenager sometimes. There was always something. Melissa greived for what her son had to do, for everything that had happened that she didn't have the scarest clue about. How would everything be different if her two boys hadn't gone out in search of a body?

The two slowly pulled themselves out of the funk and began work. Melissa went over files and Scott did the homework he had been neglecting. He really couldn't have gone over the files with his mom anyway. The injuries Stiles had suffered that Scott had _seen_ firsthand were catalouged so...distant-like. Like the patient in the file wasn't a person but a test subject. It hurt when he caught a glimpse of 'compound fracture,' and he could picture when he saw Stiles' femur sticking out of his swollen thigh and several bones sticking out of the fingers on his right hand.  When he saw 'acute organ damage,' and flashed back to seeing glimpses of his best friend's lungs trying desperatly to suck in air greedily and could have sworn he saw his intestines through the deep claw marks on his stomach. Scott shook his head and glared at his textbook like it would see him and do his homework for him. He had grabbed the last two days worth of Stiles' homework and been slowly working on that as well as his own. He knew Stiles would bitch and complain about how much homework he was going to have and if they were going to almost kill him could the Alpha Pack do it right or do his homework for him? It was just common curtousy. "Scott." He snapped his head up so fast he could've had whiplash, Erica was standing with her hands on her hips and fierce look in her eyes that tried to overshadow the worry etched there. "We took the first watch so you go home and sleep, not make into a zombie." He opened his mouth to protest before his mom cut in with her 'No Nonsense,' face on.

"She's right, you've barely slept Sc-Oh don't look at me like that. Go home _._ Scott sighed and hugged his mom with a quiet 'be careful, love you,' and picked up his bag and left with glare at Erica.

The moment he laid in his bed he was ouit like a light.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

\-----------------------------------------

 

 The next morning, Scott rolled out of bed, feeling better but still exhausted. He took a quick shower and changed his clothes before grabbing his bag and going down the stairs to shove something down his gullet. Today was his watch and he knew that the others would just bother him if he didn't eat. It was a Saturday, not that Scott cared too much either way, this just meant he wasn't going to be assigned any more homework for a couple days. He could finish what he had and maybe even finish before Derek came to relieve him when the sun went down.

When he had first been admitted to the hospital and was fresh out of surgery, deputies had been posted outside of Stiles' door. At that point, Scott knew he had to spill the beans. He told him about the werewolves (and almost gots shot when he wolfed out) and the strange Beacon Hills Phenomena to attract all things troublesome and superantural nature. Sheriff Stilinski had not been pleased in the slightest. He did however (eventually) recognize that a few choice deputies who had known Stiles since he was in diapers were not going to do much against a pack of Alpha werewolves and relieved them of their postions with a promise from Scott that he would protect his son. Even though he wasn't allowed in his room for several days, Scott had barely left the hospital besides school.

Melissa had been in bed when he left, having had the graveyard shift last night and would have it again tonight, which meant Scott was the only one with Stiles.

.

.

.

And nothing happened at all.

No, seriously, nothing happened. What, does everything have to be so dramatic? All that happened was homework. In fact nothing happened for... _several_ days, actually. It would have been nice if Scott wasn't so strung out, waiting for something to happen like something inevietablly _does_. Finally nothing happened and he couldn't even enjoy it. He kept waiting for the Alpha Pack to threaten him some way, for Deucalion to show up and pull more 'Alpha of Alphas,' crap. For Stiles' spirit to wake up again and start going crazy. For something to happen to his body.

But no, all was quiet. Scott didn't want to look a gift horse in the mouth, but it didn't feel right. Even when his watch was over and Derek stalked into the room and told him to leave with just an eyebrow raise, Scott felt the feeling follow him all the way home. 

He was at home when Isaac called. Apparently Stiles' spirit was awake again and had promptly flipped his shit and blew up a plant. Scott had already been grabbing his bag when Isaac actually relayed an order from Deaton. 

_"Stay home."_

Isaac and Deaton had been able to calm Stiles down before he accidently killed something and had only called because the two knew better than to keep a worried best friend in the dark. That just doesn't end well. They did however restablish (again) the 'stay home until your next watch,' because he, according to certain parties, looked like rotten crap. That was how Scott sat in his room alone contemplating every horrible thing to ever happen to him. He found it funny that his dad leaving was near the bottom of the list. Hilarious in a way. Who knew becoming a werewolf could change a person's perception in life so drastically. For many people, having their dad leave was the most upsetting thing to ever happen to them. Not that it hadn't felt that way at the time, but considering how little emotion Scott even had for the man anymore, the near deaths of serveral of his friends went higher up on the list.

Sometimes though, Scott thought about the good things he wouldn't have gained without this new additon to his life. He didn't have to depend on his inhaler to actually live life, for a while he had had Allison, he had made wonderful friends in Issac, Boyd, and Erica. Being a werewolf had not completly ruined his life. Would he like to go back and change things? Yes. In fact, if it were not for Stiles being mutilated by the Alpha Pack Scott might be okay with being what he was.

Late into the hours of the night, Scott fell asleep with conflicted thoughts and strange dreams.

* * *

 


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sup. I have to say that all of my rough drafts got a little mixed up at this point (which is also why the last chapter's ending was weird as all hell) but I think I've got everything back in order.
> 
> Read on if you would so please!

 

 

 

 

Lydia Martin and Allison Argent walked to room 304. The girls looked at each other with trepidation and steeled expressions. There would be no fake smiles with eyes cast down. There had been too much devastation lately to even consider pretending that all was well in Beacon Hills. 

Sacrifices being committed every week, insane alphas running around, members of the pack almost dying more than once. Lydia's ex-boyfriend turning into a lizard, then a werewolf, then leaving for London because everyone thought he was dead. Almost being driven insane by the werewolf who had attacked her at the winter dance. And now the boy who had pined after her since the third grade being attacked. There was never time to take a breath and relax, or at least treasure they hadn't died yet and would live another day. Now they had to visit a friend in the hospital.

Stopping outside of the room, Lydia wished the blinds weren't drawn. As if seeing the extensive injuries painting the spastic boy through the reinforced window would make it less real. That their lives had not become a litany of death and constant turmoil. As neither girl had developed powers beyond predicting death and extreme marksmanship, the blinds did not lift on their own and the girls were forced to step inside the ICU room.

Erica Reyes was stationed on the chair by Stiles' bedside. Her head snapped to them and a half-hearted glare was cast in their  direction. By the red eyes, and the way she hadn't even heard them coming, Lydia knew the wolf had been having a moment.

Erica and Stiles shared a bond that was different from the friendship he shared with Scott or the life-long crush he had sustained on Lydia. They were each others protectors. Boyd and Erica were partners, bonded in a way that would mean devastation if one lost the other. But Stiles and Erica were able to shelter themselves together. Batman and Catwoman to save the day with comic book and movie references. Snarky banters included. And if Erica and Stiles sometimes hugged a little long, and Boyd would join in in their cuddle sessions, well, not everyone knew exactly what happened in the Argent's basement that night with the Kanima except for them, and it was only their secret to tell.

After standing in the middle of the room awkwardly for a few moments, Erica waved a hand forward, signalling for the girls to step towards Stiles. Lydia could feel her exterior crack at the picture in front of her. How small he looked, surrounded by machines and-God- the ventilator. Allison grew stiff beside her and Lydia heard Erica sigh.

"You going to get on with it? Cry your sympathies and say how horrible this is? Say how much you miss him?" Erica sounded angry and tired. Like her emotions were getting the better of her but her body was so tired she couldn't release her frustrations.

"He's our friend too, Erica." Allison said quietly.

"Your friend? Your friend? That's rich, Argent."

"I'm not here to argue Erica, we just needed to see him." Allison put her strong face forward and Lydia knew she was not to be deterred. She was staying.

One look from Erica though, and the hunter and werewolf were yelling, and arguing. Not loud enough for security to come, but enough for Lydia to want to cover her ears. This wasn't something that should happen in happen in hospital. This wasn't the behavior of someone here to grieve.

"Allison. Please." The girls continued to argue. There were jabs at family, at blind allegiance. At monstrous qualities and bad decisions. Lydia couldn't believe this was happening. There was no way in hell that this was happening.

"STOP IT!" 

Both girls turned to stare at the banshee, rage on their faces and seen in the heaving of their chests.

"Stiles is dying and you decide that a cat fight is the best course of action?! What is wrong with you?" 

Lydia could barely feel satisfied with the guilt and shame on their faces before she froze with shock, cold seeping into her skin. Erica spun her head around as a breeze went through the room and the incense flickered. Across the tiled floor was a lanky figure. Any skin not swallowed by bruises and deep lacerations was pale to the point of being able to blend with snow. A symbol was caved into the flat skin of his chest, red from the interior tissue, but outside traces of blood wiped away. There was white from an exposed rib, and white poking out from bruised skin that Lydia realized was a femur. A compound fracture. But what hit her the most was his eyes. The once bright, whiskey colored eyes that spoke of mischief and trouble, were fading. A most dull , flat brown with no dimension took over as he stared with the look of someone giving up.

"Stiles." She whispered shakily, not realizing it was out of her mouth. She watched the dead lift from his gaze a bit as he started.

"You can see me?" Lydia nodded and swallowed. "Yeah, yeah I can see you." Erica looked from the corner and back to Lydia.

"Of course you can see him." She grumbled. Lydia ignored her and walked closer to Stiles. She honestly couldn't tell if him wrapped in bandages or him with a plethora of open wounds was worse. His bones were sticking out of his skin for Pete's sake. He tilted his head as if examining her and it only disturbed her more. It made Lydia think back to the lacrosse field with Peter Hale hunched over her with blood dripping from his fangs. All three stared at the girl. Lydia huffed and crossed her arms, blocking the heavy thoughts from her mind.

"Would you all stop staring? Maybe if you did we figure out what to do." Stiles snorted gracelessly before leaning against the wall. 

"Glad to see you haven't changed much. Still boning half of the Wonder Twins?" Lydia's mouth dropped before quickly righting itself as she glared at the pale boy. Stiles flinched before frowning and bowing his head. "Sorry. I'm still trying to get a hang of this 'Don't Become a Vengeful Spirit thing."

"It's fine, but do it again and I'll have Prada bite your toes off." Stiles laughed before getting off the wall and walking towards the girls.

"What do you say we crack open a laptop and research the shit out of this?"

\------------------------------------------------------------------------

"I never want to research ever again."

"That is a lie and you know it, Stilinski."

Stiles sighed and let himself float around in a circle. That was probably the only good thing about Googling for twelve hours, the floating. A little bit of well-placed concentration and boom, floating like butterfly. He could probably sting like a bee but both him and Lydia thought that practicing anything more than floating might be bad if Stiles went...Dark Side.

"Lydia. I think maybe we should just-" 

"No."

"Lyds-"

"I said, no. We are never trying that." Stiles threw his hands up in the air.

"It's not like it make much of a difference anyway! I might as well already be dead! If it works, I live and if not, then my body will be in a box instead of a stupid hospital bed. I don't want to waste away like she did!" He hid his face in hands as Lydia stared at him, her expression undefinable. 

"Fine." Stiles lifted his head and sighed. 

"Thank you."

"Don't thank me, if you die it's me who has to live with it. I'll talk to Deaton and Melissa." Lydia took her laptop and bag and left, leaving a few books, before slamming the door.

\---------------------------------------------------------

 Stiles' room was practically bursting. The air thick with trepidation and unspoken words. The pack, Deaton, Melissa, and Allison stood around the small, prone body and the machines that kept it alive. Stiles wandered about, staring as Melissa prepped the defibrillator and Deaton and Lydia prepared the pack with instructions and herbs. He watched as his dad paced and kept looking over at the vet with nervous eyes and a frown set firmly into a face that had aged years over the course of a week. Stiles felt guilt constrict at his chest when he couldn't comfort him.

"What exactly is this going to do my son?" The Sheriff asked as he stopped in front of his son's bed.

"Stiles is disconnected from his corporeal body due to the damage and nature of the Alphas' attack." Deaton started as he flipped a few pages from an old tome. "By having him remember what happened, he will reform a bond to his body. By stopping and restarting his heart, his soul will...reboot and slingshot back where it belongs." Deaton added a few more herbs to a wide ceramic bowl filled with ice water before moving it to the beside table. John Stlinski stared incredulously at the man. 

"So, your going to kill Stiles to bring him back?" 

 "Essentially, yes." Deaton set his bag on the ground before facing the father with careful eyes, "Sheriff, Stiles is not getting any better. He will certainly die if we don't do this. This will give him a chance at life again." 

"Dad, it's okay. I want to go through with this." Stiles said before looking at Lydia. She cleared her throat before relaying the message.

"That's still weird as all hell." the Sheriff mumbled. "If your sure Stiles."

"I am."

"He is."

"It's time then. Scott, Issac, Boyd you're going to put your hands in this bowl with Stiles." He turned towards Lydia before speaking again, "Stiles, you aren't just going to remember what happened, you're going to relive it. When you have finished the memory, we will stop your heart for ten seconds before restarting it. Are you ready?" 

Stiles wrung his hands before looking towards Lydia.

"I-in case I don't make it back, can you tell my dad I love him?" Stiles looked Lydia in the eye, suddenly aware this could be the very last time he had a chance to look at the canyons and ridges in the colored iris of someone's eye. Of course it would be right before he might die that he appreciates these types of things. Typical.

"Of course. I would hug you but I don't think going through someone is a pleasant feeling." Stiles chuckled before shaking his head. "Yeah, it's really not."

Lydia turned around to tell his dad and before he could change his mind he walked over shoved his hands into the bowl. Shockingly, the water splashed over the sides from the force and it felt real. It was surprising to say the least.

"Close your eyes Stiles, relax. Scott, Issac, and Boyd found you, there is a connection there, find it. Feel it."

Stiles closed his eyes and let out a breath. He reached with his senses felt Scott's worry and determination, the warmth he gave off as a semblance of comfort for his best friend. He felt Issac's insecurity as he remembered his encounter with the Alpha Pack, and Boyd's calm strength. He felt the bond grow like tree roots, tightening and twisting as he was drawn down into darkness.


	6. Chapter 6

The vault had no windows, and no working lights. It was dark as hell and if Stiles had to pace in the dark any longer it might as well _be_ Hell. His medication had worn off sometime ago while he'd been unconscious and if that didn't make being a captive suck, then the terror of, y'know,  _being a captive_ did.

The last thing Stiles remembered was driving to the grocery store because he was a growing teenage boy dammit, and something suddenly being in the middle of the road and...nothing. Of course it was logical to assume that one of the Alphas had made his car crash, and then taken him here for whatever their dastardly scheme was. Stiles was expecting pain. That was not at all an exciting prospect. It was always him, wasn't it? The breakable human, the weakling. Typical.

The spinning of the enormous lock on the vault door shook Stiles from his thoughts and he dived behind a pillar supporting the ceiling. He stood shakily and tried to reign his heart rate in. The spinning stopped with an ominous  _'thunk.'_

They always say that a few seconds felt like eternity, and just then Stiles wanted to call this a haven instead of Hell because now he was pretty sure he wanted nothing more than for the door to never open, because whatever was coming was worse than staying in this god forsaken cement room.

The door opened slowly, a low amount of light to spill through. The rustle of clothes as the werewolves entered the room followed by the light tapping of a cane.

_Deucalion._

_Shiiiiiiiiiiit._

 

"Stiles, why don't you come out? It's not like you could hide anyways; a deaf man could hear your heart from a mile away." The Alpha sounded smug, like somehow having Stiles here was impressive. Or maybe it was just his normal cadence. Some people did just sound like assholes. Before he even knew what was happening that was a sharp slap across his face that sent him stumbling backwards.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

\-------------------------------------

Scott growled as he and the rest of the track team jogged up the dirt slope, Issac and Boyd at his sides. The rolling smell of frustration was cloying into his brain doing nothing to help with the growing sense of unrestrained panic.

Stiles had gone missing last night, his car found in the middle of the road and the rough tresklion carved into the driver's side door. After the Sheriff told him Scott had gotten his phone out to call Derek only to see a missed call from Stiles. No message, just static.  But with no clue where the Alpha Pack's hideout was, and Stiles' scent non-existent, the pack could do nothing more than keep up appearances. All the wolves were trying their hardest not to get to far ahead of the rest of the team, but after having to stop for the third time for the rest to catch up, the boys called it quits and ran through the woods at break-neck speeds, anger and frustration ruling at their core. 

Scott felt his control slipping and he knew he had to slow down, lest he wolf out and someone see him. He signals the others and all three come to halt, trying to regain self control. 

 

 

\----------------------------------

 

Stiles scooted back on his ass, he felt discombobulated. His face stung and he was nervous as hell. They were going to  _hurt_ him. Stiles knew that now, and he terrified. There was no where to run, and that almost scared him more than anything. He no control over whatever was going to happen next. Deucalion crouched next to Stiles, and held his shoulder in a punishing grip, sufficiently immobilizing Stiles.

"Now, Stiles. I'm sure you would love to regale us with a wonderfully thought out explanation of why we should let you go. You seem clever enough, it would be fairly funny. However teenage backtalk is not what I'm looking for tonight." And before Stiles could get a word in edge-wise, he was across the room choking on air.

Stiles gripped his ribs, the pressure hurting even more, but he felt like he could breathe better. Definitely broken ribs. Stiles pushed himself to a standing position, using the wall as a support, while the Alphas slowly approached. They walked leisurely, like they had all the time in the world. It certainly felt like it to Stiles, the dew seconds it took to get enough air was like an eternity of waiting for the other shoe to drop.

"Guys-" _huff_   "-this really isn't necessary, i'm sure we can-"  _huff_   "Work something out!" Stiles gasped for air, as he tried to slowly walk backwards away from the oncoming threat. Kali, just smirked as she caught up to him, running a hand down from his hair to his chin, almost in a comforting gesture. Stiles shuddered, tries to move his face away but she just grabs it and squeezes until his jaw hurts and he's sure he looks like a fish. Stiles Lets go of his ribs and tries to swat at her arms. Kali tisks at him before throwing him at the wall, and swiping at his legs with the claws on her feet. Stiles screams through the death grip on his face, but it comes more a grunt before Kali drops him and balances a foot on top of his chest.

 _"Don't-"_  Kali presses down and Stiles screams.

 

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	7. Okie Dokie

Hi, so it's been a year since I updated. I am REALLY sorry about that. I decided to try and update today since the laptop at my work finally, y'know, works, but I was reading through all of the chapters and decided I didn't like them. I know, I'm sorry. Basically, since I have a lot of free time when I'm at work as long as I finish my homework, then it shouldn't be too hard for me to update now. I'm going to leave this up as a reference and start rewriting chapters. Sorry for such a long wait guys, I'm going to start writing now!


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